


The Here And The Now

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Wild Adapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tokito is damn interested in the stranger in the photograph--the one who has his arm around Kubota</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Here And The Now

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chima for the beta. 
> 
> Written for glass_icarus

 

 

Tokito finds the picture in a box of old mail--bills never paid, letters never forwarded, junk ads never opened--put there to be forgotten. He'd been looking for any other video games he might have missed on his last romp through the closet. 

The photo is of Kubo-chan--perhaps a year or two younger, though he doesn't really look any different--and another guy Tokito doesn't know. He's thin and gangly and pale, and he has an arm draped loosely over Kubota's shoulder. It would have been unremarkable and innocent, if it hadn't been for the look on the other man's face. 

Kubota's smiling quietly, as much as he ever does, but the other man's looking at him like...like you don't look at someone unless you're imagining them naked. Kubota looks content, like he doesn't mind the guy hanging all over him, and Tokito feels a rush of illogical jealousy. 

It doesn't make sense. He's with Kubo-chan He's with him and the guy in the picture isn't, but it still makes him angry. 

Later, when the sun has abandoned Yokohama for friendlier skies and Kubota's made ramen, he pulls the picture from where it's sitting folded in his pocket, all soft and crinkly around the edges.

"Who's this?" he blurts out. Nonchalance isn't one of his strong points. 

Kubota pauses with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, the noodles dripping broth back into the bowl. The TV is on, but neither of them is really watching it, and the voice of the newscaster drones on in the background. 

He looks at the photo. "Me and a guy I knew," he says simply, and goes back to the ramen. 

"Who is he?" Tokito prods, knowing this probably isn't a good idea, but a part of him--the bestial, terretorial part of him that hates the thought of anyone else touching Kubo-chan--has to know. 

"An old friend," Kubota says, putting his empty bowl down on the chipped coffee table. 

"Oh," Tokito says. Kubota doesn't want to talk about it, it's obvious, but Tokito keeps going, like a runaway train. 

"Were you guys, you know...together?" 

"During office hours we were," Kubota answers, with a little half smile that says he knows exactly what Tokito means, and that wasn't it. 

"He was in Izumo?" 

Kubota nods, picking up the remote, flicking through the channels, cycling through sports, some chick flick, some really unlikely looking porn, and finally settling on a nature show with a guy poking a crocodile with a stick. 

"Yes. His name's Komiya," he adds, almost as an afterthought. 

That rattles something loose in Tokito's brain. He remembers hearing it somewhere, maybe from the quack in Chinatown. Komiya--the reason Kubota left the Izumo group, the reason he burned down the Toujo headquarters on the way out.

"He was your friend?" 

Kubota nods idly. "I think that man deserves to be bitten," he says, watching as the man pokes the crocodile again.

"So you guys...did you..." He makes a sort of waffling motion in the air with his hands. 

Kubota gives a tired sort of shrug. 

They don't have sex every night, but tonight Tokito needs it. The moment Kubota slides into bed, naked skin warm and damp from the shower, smelling like soap and shampo, Tokito moves against him. Kubota's eyes are distant and hard to read as he slides his fingers into Tokito's hair, kissing him soft and open mouthed. 

Their first kiss had been about a year ago, as natural as breathing. Even if doing that sort of thing with a guy had been weird to Tokito before he'd lost his memory, it certainly wasn't now. 

Tokito doesn't often take off his glove, even during sex. Some things were better left unseen. Tonight, he lays it down carefully on the floor beside the rumpled futon. He puts pressure on Kubota's back, pushing him down on his stomach when he doesn't resist. He kisses the dip of his back, running his tongue along the rough edges of old scar tissue. He hears Kubota sigh against the sheets. Tokito runs his hands over his sides, muscles twitching under his fingertips. He reaches to the little drawer in the bedside table to where they keep the lube--beside matches, a pistol, and the box of condoms that they don't use.

"Hey, Kubo-chan? Can I fuck you?" He asks every time, even though he always knows what the answer will be. 

Kubota sighs into the pillow. "Mmm. Yes please." 

Tokito isn't so crazy about this part--putting his fingers where his cock is about to go. And it's strange to see Kubota squirm like that. 

At first, Tokito had been fairly repulsed by the whole process. 

"It goes where?" he'd asked Kubota, dumbstruck, when he'd explained the act to him matter-of-factly over coffee.

Still, curiosity had won over disgust--as it always did--and it had felt so good, so hot, so impossibly different from when he touched himself. And Kubo-chan hadn't really seemed to mind. 

And he doesn't seem to mind now, as Tokito slicks his cock and pushes inside him with a grunt. A few slow, deep thrusts before they find a rhythm, and it's easy after that, just moving and breathing, as unhurried as falling asleep. 

But it's too quiet. Not that Kubo-chan ever really makes much noise past the occasional bitten-off gasp--there's other ways for Tokito to tell that he's moving the right way. The delicate tremble of Kubota's limbs, the sweat slicking his back, the movement of the muscles under Tokito's hands. But tonight it feels like silence is pressing in on his ears. 

"Did you do this with him?" he asks suddenly, and then can't believe the words actually came out of his mouth. 

Kubota lets out a breathy sort of sigh, as if he wants to sound frustrated but can't quite manage it at the moment. 

"With who?" he asks, and he sounds tired. 

Tokito snaps his hips, gritting his teeth as Kubota's body clenches tight around him. The blast of dopamine through his system is calming him down, melting his anger away. It pisses him off. 

He stops moving. "You know...that guy. Komiya. Did you guys...you know, fuck and stuff..." He trails off to nothing. He hates how stupid he sounds. He attempts to get back into the motion, but Kubota rises to his knees before he can manage it. Tokito's sent back onto his ass with a thump, as Kubota extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and rolls onto his back. The dirty yellow glow of the Yokohama street lights slip in through the cracks in the blinds, painting his face in stripes. 

He's staring up at the ceiling, eyelids closed to the tiniest crack. 

"Does it really matter?" 

Tokito shrugs, pulling a sheet over himself and hunkering down. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, sweat cooling on his skin. He's losing his hard-on. Talk about killing the mood. 

"...Guess not," he says after a moment, feeling dumb and naked. Well, more naked than he actually is, 'cause Kubo-chan is staring at him in the blank, scary way that he usually reserves for cops and assholes. 

He lets his eyes drift back to the ceiling. "Komiya's dead," he says after a moment. "He's not here." 

You are. You're what matters. 

The words hang unspoken between them, like dud firecrackers doomed to never explode. It's okay, though. He doesn't have to say them. Tokito knows, the same way he knows that it gets dark at the end of the day, that it'll rain in June. 

"Sorry," he mumbles. 

Kubota smiles, just a little, and pulls the sheet out of Tokito's hands. 

 


End file.
